


Love Like A Bomb

by faith_girl222 (faithgirl)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-08
Updated: 2005-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithgirl/pseuds/faith_girl222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this rate Neville is fairly certain he's going to end up with a Quidditch gear kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Like A Bomb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eleniangel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eleniangel).



> Post-OotP; Not HBP-compliant. Title from Oasis.
> 
> Beta by coppersinger.

Neville really is quite fond of Quidditch. Not playing it, because that ends in trips to the hospital wing before the Bludgers even come into the equation, but watching and cheering and blathering about the stats. He enjoys it, even when he sees how insane it is. It isn't like it's shameful; 90% of the wizarding world is Quidditch mad, according to the Prophet's latest polling. But it had, up until the November day when Harry pressed him back against the lockers in the changing room, seemed just a bit childish, just a bit fanciful.

Now it mostly feels like a cock pressed against his hip, and rough gloves moving over his cheeks. Harry is smirking at him, and Neville really has to wonder at the endorphins involved in Quidditch. Harry nuzzles behind his ear, and Neville is finding it progressively harder to think about the game and its effect on Harry. 

And there are hands. Hands in new places.

Harry's grabs Neville's ass, and he doesn't so much jump as moan, twitch and press against Harry. Anyone could come in at any moment, Neville is sure, and they really shouldn't be doing this. But he's between Harry and a hard place, and if only all his tough decisions landed him in situations like this. Harry doesn't seem particularly preoccupied by the idea of being caught. If he wasn't pushing Neville's robes open and pulling down the flies on his trousers, Neville would probably wonder about this. 

As it is, not so much.

"D-do you think we ought to be doing this, here?" he manages.

"Probably not," Harry mumbles, not missing a beat as he drops to his knees. He's still wearing his Quidditch uniform, all scarlet and gold and the leather gloves and leather shin guards have never seemed so sexy. He smiles that smile he has, the one Harry told him he perfected to seem innocent when he'd just come from being out after hours or breaking actual laws. It is having a most pleasant effect, because Neville doesn't think he's ever been this hard.

"We could get in trouble. You could get into the pape - ," Harry's hand is on his cock and he's licking his lips, and was Neville attempting to say something?

The blow job is, well, it's wonderful, and Neville would like to scale it, but he'd have had to have been blown before to do such a thing. Well, there was that thing two summers ago with the bloke from the chemist's in the village, but there were no mouths and -

"What are you doing?"

Harry looks quizzically at him over his bare shoulder. "Going to take a shower. Aren't you coming?"

Neville doesn't need to be told twice, thank you very much.

It's not even a week before they're doing it after Quidditch again. At this rate Neville is fairly certain he's going to end up with a Quidditch gear kink, although something tells him he would be far from alone. 

And Harry? Really seems to like the thrill of nearly being caught. Not to say he isn't perfectly, well, boyfriendly 90% of the time, very much with the acting respectful and not getting Neville into too much PDA that would be noticed by some Witch Weekly mole, but he gets very worked up sometimes. Especially after the Quidditch.

Neville is very much not expecting it right before Christmas Break, behind the Quidditch sheds, in the snow. Their exams are over, and Neville is wrung out and Quidditch practice doesn't start again until the new year, and they've somehow ended up down at the lake. 

Harry isn't wearing his uniform. Come to that, he isn't even wearing his robes. He's just wearing trousers and a warm jumper. There's something very attractive about his being dressed so casually and Neville has trouble listening to Harry talk about a particularly exhausting Transfiguration exercise.

They end up pausing in the shadow of the stadium on their way back up the lawns. The snow is very bright, even here, and Neville is wondering about what plants would be frozen under the snow if they weren't enjoying unbelievably high standards of living back in the greenhouses. Harry kisses him, and his train of thought flings itself from its tracks and bursts gleefully into flames in the gorge below.

Harry's mouth is a wonder, and must surely fuel the imaginations of most of the school. If Neville had to describe any mouth as built to be wank fodder (not that he would ever do such a thing aloud, not ever), he would have to go with Harry's. It's what he thinks of as an English mouth. It isn't all sharp edged or plump and rounded. It's small and curves up at the edges even when Harry stares aimlessly into the distance. It's smooth and soft and when it opens under his own - there is nothing so welcoming.

Harry's lips are only chapped after Quidditch; something about high speeds through the air and gnawing on them as he tries to time finding the Snitch to his advantage. Today, they're so soft it's nearly unbearable. Neville brushes his mouth, a flap of butterfly wings, without rhythm. It builds up and Neville is literally shaking as they stumble against the shed.

Hard and fast and behind the Quidditch shed and even if it weren't Harry this is the absolute coolest thing that's ever happened to Neville. 

He, Neville Longbottom, is fucking Harry "The Boy Who Loved" Potter against the Hogwarts Quidditch shed. He, Neville Longbottom, is breaking school rules and participating in obscenity and public indecency and it is brilliant. Quidditch and sex and he could die happy. He'd rather not, but he could right now - rapturously - if need be. He's certain it would be even better when this whole war thing blows over and Harry becomes a famous Quidditch player and down the road Neville will be able to say "Yes, I'm fucking a famous Quidditch player, why ever do you ask?"

Harry comes tugging on Neville's hair and Neville thinks: this must be love.


End file.
